Nightmares
by hobbitgrl
Summary: Sometimes Jeff still woke up with nightmares.  These nightmares remind Jeff why he can never be with Annie.  Rated M for smut, angsty smut, language, and very, very, very angsty dark Jeff.  Seriously.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I own no part of **_**Community**_** or its awesomeness.**

**Chapter 1**

Sometimes Jeff still woke up with nightmares. It wasn't as frequent as it once was and he rarely remembered them, but that didn't mean they didn't bother him. Tonight was one of those nights. After the debacle of "I love you's" at the Tranny Dance he'd escaped outside to find Annie, dear sweet Annie. He had been so happy to see her, so thrilled she wasn't transferring with Douchebag Tiny Nipples that he'd forgotten to keep his distance. He'd let his guard down because the Tranny Dance had drained him—he didn't have the energy to keep up the façade. He didn't want to be an asshole to Britta, but his pride swelled at the thought of Slater crawling back to him. The predator inside woke up at the possibility of hurting her the way he'd been hurt. The old Jeff Winger was always there, always one misstep away, and their public declarations and thrown him into an internal war.

How could Britta put him on the spot like that? God he wanted to see Slater beg. No, he would not embarrass or hurt Britta. But he _could not_ meet her declaration head on. He didn't know what he felt for her, but he knew he didn't love her. She didn't love him either—he was pretty sure. She wasn't going to thank him for pointing that out in front of everyone else.

Caught between the man he wished he were and the man he used to be Jeff ran. He ran straight into accepting, loving Annie who idolized him. Beautiful sexy Annie who wasn't as young as he pretended she was.

Drained, vulnerable, and terrified Jeff held onto Annie like a lifeline when he saw her. He'd pulled back when he realized how tightly he was hugging her but then she looked at him and he was caught in her giant blue eyes. He was caught and she was kissing him and this wasn't for a debate. There was no getting around what this was, but she pulled away before he could get over his shock. She pulled away and he wanted more. Lost in her taste, he wanted to kiss her and keep on kissing her until everything else from the night just faded away. So he did.

That was hours and a half bottle of scotch ago. He'd come home and buried himself in drinks until Slater and Britta and Annie seemed like so much noise. He would figure it out he kept telling himself. He was Jeff Winger. And then he'd remember he didn't want to be Jeff Winger. So he'd take another drink.

He'd passed out sometime after three and it seemed like he'd fallen straight into the dream. This was a new variation from the usual nightmare. Instead of being a kid he was himself—an adult—and he was his father. He was drunk and angry, god he was so angry. He couldn't remember why, but he could remember how the rage felt—he could still feel the way nothing else mattered except making her understand. She'd stepped over the line, gone too far; he wasn't about to let her push him around like that. He'd been so fucking furious.

Annie was his wife in the dream. He didn't know how he knew that except he just did. They'd been married and she was so young and stupid; he was screaming at her in the dream, a scotch in one hand as he slapped the wall next to her head over and over. He couldn't remember why they were fighting, but in the dream he knew it was the same one they always had. She didn't understand him. She was too young. She wanted him to change. He worked so hard for her and she didn't understand.

She slapped him and he'd woken up just as he swung back.

He was covered in sweat, his real body as full of the adrenaline he'd been pumped full of in the dream. The rage was a memory, but it felt close—so much closer than he could deal with. He'd been married to Annie and he'd turned into his father.

He'd spent the rest of the night throwing up. He didn't talk to her for the rest of the summer.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I own no part of **_**Community**_** or its awesomeness.**

**Chapter 2**

Half way their second year at Greendale she'd wormed her way through his guard again. All first semester he'd kept his distance; he'd even been outright mean to her once or twice. It broke him a little more every time he saw her heart shatter, but it was better than the alternative. He could never explain to her why she didn't want to be with him. It was better to never start anything and let her find love with someone she deserved. She would find a man that could love her, and Jeff would make sure that damned lucky kid deserved her.

He kept to that plan admirably. Except for a few short slipups during their "Conspiracy" conspiracy he'd kept his distance and made sure she kept his. Every time he felt himself slipping he had the same dream and he remembered.

But she'd worn him down over Christmas break. Her texts had been infrequent and friendly; she'd gone back to the same sweet, smart Annie he'd known last year. He'd missed their talks and the way she swatted his shoulder when he needled her. He'd actually looked forward to the start of spring semester and studying again. And then she rolled in with her crush on Rich.

He _hated_ Rich. Hated him. Not disliked—not found annoying. Jeff hated Rich more than he hated cheap haircuts and clothes from Walmart. Rich was everything he despised about Greendale and his new shitty apartment; he was the sort of do-gooder idiot that Jeff used to destroy in the courtroom with a malpractice suit. Some days the only thing that kept Jeff going was a vision of Rich blubbering like a baby as he lost everything he had. Some days Jeff imagined that just for fun.

So then Annie—his wonderful, loving Annie who deserved only the best of the best—comes in with a crush on Rich and before he's even figured out how much he hates it because it's Annie and how much he hates it because it's Rich, she's calling him out about the whole thing and demanding that he talk about his feelings with her. He _hates_ talking about his feelings. He hates that he has feelings. Not as much as he hates Rich, though.

So he snaps at her, "You don't think I actually care do you?" He'd felt like a real shit after that, but he learned early on there was no half-assing it with Annie. If he wanted her to back off he needed to pull out the big guns with the first volley. But then he was still angry at her, and now he was angry at himself—all of that was compounded with always hating Rich, and he figured before he could begin figuring anything else out he needed to first make sure Rich didn't make it into the study group.

He absolutely refused to see Rich regularly regardless of everything else.

It had felt fucking amazing when Shirley voted his way. He still had it. It wasn't a malpractice suit, but it was close enough. He'd walked to the bathroom with a smirk on his face, but then, half way through his piss, he thought about Annie and that same mess of feelings he always felt when he thought of Annie descended upon him again.

Fuck.

She'd stormed in all self-righteously eyes ablaze, and, for just a second, he wasn't sure he wasn't going to kiss her. There was something intoxicating about the idea of making out with her in the men's room. He'd gotten himself back under control and years of practice made sure his face showed very little—he hid it all under sarcasm like he always did. He didn't even have to think about it anymore. But then she'd called him on all his bullshit and he wanted to tell her; he wanted to just collapse in her arms and tell her about his childhood and his father and his nightmares and…and cry. He just wanted to cry and have someone give a damn. He wanted Annie to give a damn.

But if he did that she'd know how he felt, and then she'd start making demands and talking about feelings and he just couldn't do it. He couldn't. Maybe he was further than ever this year from what he used to be, but the old Jeff Winger was always there, always waiting for the moment he was too tired or too drunk to keep up his guard. The old Jeff Winger was waiting for a chance to hurt Annie and revel in her pain.

He'd die before he let himself do that to her. Even if that meant swallowing it all, burying it all so far down she'd never know.

He almost didn't make it. "Either you want me or you don't, what's it gonna be?" she'd demanded.

"I wish I could give you an answer that makes sense, but relationships are complicated," he'd retorted. "And we're in the men's room." It was the closest he'd ever come to admitting he thought about being in a relationship with her.

She'd been too angry to realize what he'd just given up and stormed out with promises of asking Rich out. He wondered briefly what he would have done if she'd realized what he said, if she'd asked him why he referred to their friendship as a "relationship." Blurted out "I love you?" Unlikely. But that didn't mean it wasn't true.

He'd gone to Rich that night. Rich whom he hated more than anything he'd ever hated in his life—maybe as much his father. He figured if anyone could teach him to be the sort of man that didn't want Annie, to be the sort of friend that didn't think about her when he went to sleep and when he woke up—when he was in the shower—it was Rich.

He had the same nightmare again that night. This time he didn't wake up until she was laying on the floor sobbing, her nose bloody and her lip split.

He'd spent the rest of the night throwing up. He hadn't drunk any scotch all day.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I own no part of **_**Community**_** or its awesomeness.**

**Chapter 3**

He didn't know what made him go to therapy. He'd seen the fliers around campus and he knew it was free for students. Still—for all its availability he'd spent the first year and a half laughing about losers who needed free therapy. Better a loser than his father he figured.

He was already lying to himself before he walked through the door for his first appointment. He knew exactly why he was trying therapy. Last night he hadn't woken up from the nightmare. Last night he forgot it was a nightmare. He and Annie were married again and they were fighting—again. She slapped him and then he was hitting her over and over and over. She sobbed until she stopped sobbing and made these pathetic little mewling sounds. He was crying as he held her, telling her how sorry he was over and over again, pushing her hair away from her bloody face. A small sound distracted him and he looked up to see their son—he and Annie's son—standing in the hallway with a horrified expression as Jeff rocked Annie's beaten, broken body in his arms.

When he finally did wake up he'd just lain in bed, unmoving. He'd called the emergency hot line and they'd made him an induction appointment for that afternoon.

He forced himself to be honest on the questionnaire. He forced himself to be honest about the dreams with the shrink. He'd made another appointment for later in the week before he left. School started in a couple of months and maybe he was never going to be the sort of man that deserved Annie, but he would do anything to keep from hurting her even if that meant facing himself.

By the time school started he had acknowledged a lot about himself that made him uncomfortable, but for the first time in a long time, he wasn't afraid he was going to lose control. He found himself trusting his friends—and trusting Annie—more than he thought possible three years ago. It was going to be a good year. And Jeff was going to tell Annie how he felt.

He wasn't sure when the switch had flipped from protecting her from himself to being honest with her about his feelings, but it felt glorious. He was a new age man. He was in touch with himself. He was doing good work in therapy. He was not his father. He could try a relationship with Annie.

When he'd been kicked out of Biology and watched his friends move on without him he'd snapped. When he'd watched Annie exist so at ease with herself and everyone else but him he'd felt the familiar simmer of rage ignite once again. He had given these people _everything_. He had changed who he was—_what_ he was—and they couldn't even remember to meet him for lunch. That was when he realized how much more they all meant to him than he did to them. That realization drove him a little bit crazy. He wanted to blame Pierce—crazy, racist, awful Pierce. Pierce had maneuvered Jeff out of the group and now Jeff was going to grow old and alone. He was going to be some weird conglomerate monster of Pierce and his father—a hateful, bigoted, old man that no one loved and everyone avoided.

After he took the fire axe to the table he and this therapist both agreed he should probably slow things down. Just because he recognized that he had feelings did not mean he was ready to live with those feelings.

He'd done a freaking fantastic job of being honest with Annie about his feelings. That was one of the things he'd been practicing in therapy—saying what he felt honestly and without sarcasm. It still felt awkward and out of character, but this new Jeff Winger could do this. New Jeff Winger _would_ do this.

It'd been easy after Annie exploded at the model UN-off. She'd been so ridiculous and immature that he'd felt like a wise sage, a man so mature and at ease with his softer side as he casually revealed how he felt about her. She hadn't thrown herself at him and he hadn't pushed it because he was going to do this right. He was going to take it slow and wait until they'd talked about their feelings like rational adults.

He was going to be a man that deserved Annie Edison.

That was when things stopped going according to plan. Sometimes she annoyed the crap out of him—like when she was so worked up over their biology assignment—and every time he felt himself getting angry with her he remembered the dreams. He remembered the face of their child as if it were real. The more he thought of the nightmare the harder it became not to think about the nightmare and by Halloween he was back to keeping Annie at arm's length, afraid of what he would do or say. He didn't want to hurt her. A man that deserved Annie Edison did not hurt her.

The night before she moved in with Troy and Abed he had the nightmare again.

This one started out a sex dream. He rolled over and found her snuggled next to him, and he couldn't stop the very male growl of approval as she ran her nails down his chest. She'd taken control and it felt like they'd done this a thousand times before; she knew exactly where to touch him to drive him crazy, and when she climbed on top and set a slow, torturous pace he was gritting his teeth, fighting to outlast her. Her hips fit perfectly in his hands and he fit perfectly in her and they were both moaning; she threw her head back, bracing her weight on one arm behind her and he reached one arm forward, his fingers rubbing in time with her pace. She moved faster and faster, her legs contracting around him and he felt the first tremors run through her—using every ounce of control he had he held on until she exploded, roaring with relief as he followed immediately after her.

She'd collapsed on top of him limp and spent and he'd reached up, holding her too him and reveling in the feeling of her weight on top of him. As his arms encircled her she hissed in pain and he pulled back, terrified he had hurt her in some way. She raised her head and her bloody, bruised visage stared down at him, tears rolling down her swollen cheeks.

"Why Jeff?" she asked him. "Why did you hurt me?"

He'd woken shaking and in tears. He didn't know who he was fooling, but he knew no amount of therapy was ever going to fix him. He also knew he couldn't look at Annie. Not after that dream.

By the time he finally got home that night he'd been blackmailed by the Dean, discovered his therapy wasn't as secret as he wanted it to be, and cried inappropriately at a puppet show. Britta looked appalled, then awkwardly consoling; he let her gently tease him, playing it off as emotional trauma due to Seal, and hoped none of them started asking questions. He kept up with the beer, sprawling out on his couch and scrolling through channels, but beer never got him as drunk as liked. Tonight he was just desperately hoping he didn't dream.

His head tipped back on the couch and he jerked awake to a pounding on his door sometime after an infomercial for the HOOVER DAM OF WOMEN'S PRODUCTS had come on. He fumbled with the remote, desperate to change the channel before he learned any more about what they were selling. The pounding started again and he scrubbed a hand through his messy hair as he stumbled half-awake across his living room.

"Go away" he growled, looking through the peep-hole.

"Jeff?" Annie asked from the other side. She was drenched and trembling. Yanking the door open he forgot he still had the beer in his hand.

"Annie?" he asked, but her eyes zeroed in the bottle in his grip, before coming back to his bloodshot eyes.

"I'm—" she began, licking her lips nervously, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have just barged in like this that is _incredibly_ rude. I know better. I do. So I'll just—"

"Annie," Jeff said again with exasperation, " just come on in already."

"I don't want to be an inconvenience and I know it's late," she babbled on. He reached out, grabbed her shoulder, and pulled her through the door.

"You're soaked!" he told her. "Why are you so wet?"

"I'm so sorry," she started again and he swallowed the lump in his throat as he eyes welled, "I shouldn't have just come over like this."

"Annie," he said, real worry making his tone sharp. "Annie tell me what's wrong." It was all shoved away—the nightmares, the drinking, the therapy and his newfound "feelings" were all shoved back in their cage. Annie was here and she needed him, and Jeff immediately separated the necessary parts of his psyche to help her from the muck that circled his mind constantly. Setting his lukewarm beer down he put a hand on each shoulder, forcing her to face him.

"Are you ok?" she blurted.

He stood still for a moment, unsure of what she was asking him.

"I mean it Jeff," she said more seriously, "are you ok?"

"Look at me Annie," he quipped with a grin, "I'm always ok."

"You were," she paused looking for the right word, "weird tonight. I mean, I get that you didn't want to help me move because even though I thought we were better friends than that it's you and I know now I can't just pick and choose the parts of my friends I like and change the rest, but—"

"Slow down there," Jeff stopped her rambling. He noticed she started shivering part way through and decided to fix the situation. "Let's get you some dry clothes." Going into his bedroom he pulled out an old t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts from high school. It would all be way too big for her, but at least she wouldn't be dripping all over his carpet.

She took the clothes hesitantly when he handed them to her, her wide-eyed look telling him she was reading too much into the situation.

"There just dry clothes, Annie," he told her with a smirk, "not a promise ring." She tried to cover her hurt reaction with a smile, but he still felt like an ass as she walked into the bathroom. Every time he did something nice he always felt the need to remind her it wasn't nice while simultaneously making fun of her for thinking it meant something—the worst part was it did. Or he wanted it to. He really wanted it to. His stomach lurched and he cut off that line of reasoning and repressed like a champ.

He had thought this year was going to be different, but the old Jeff Winger loomed closer than ever and that meant he shouldn't be in the same room as Annie, let alone hanging out with her alone and buzzed in his very private apartment.

When she came out of the bathroom he hid his instant erection by jumping off of the couch and walking to the fridge. While he was hidden behind the door he casually readjusted himself and let a litany of curses at himself fly through his head. Her hair was curling slightly from the moisture and the t-shirt hung off of her, gathering at her chest; the thin material did nothing to hide how cold she still was from his eyes and he stared into the cold depths of the fridge for a very, very long time.

When finally felt like he could trust his body and his reactions he popped the top off another beer and drank several long swallows before heading back to the couch. Annie was perched, cross-legged deep in the cushions her legs all but disappearing under the voluminous shirt. His I-don't-give-a-damn smirk affixed firmly in place, Jeff plopped down next to her and muted the TV.

"So what's up Annie?" he asked all nonchalance. "You came over here in the pouring rain just because you were so worried about me? I'm touched." She didn't swat him for the smirk he gave her with that last part and he felt the first touch of real trepidation at the serious look on her face. He was too fucking tired to hold it together when she was looking at him like some sort of savior, her damp body covered in his clothes, and her unique smell tickling his nose through the beer. He broke eye contact first, hiding it behind taking another swig.

"I thought we were better friends then this," Annie finally said quietly, still gazing at him, through him.

"Annie you're one of my best friends at Greendale," he said lightly.

"One of your best friends?" she questioned. "At Greendale? Am I in a seven way tie or does Britta get first place?"

"Nice," Jeff shot back, sarcasm dripping from his tone. "You know how I feel, so you're going to roll in here late at night and act hysterical?"

"I'm not acting hysterical," Annie answered, anger coloring her tone slightly. "I haven't raised my voice or screamed. You say I know how you feel, but I don't. I thought I did, but then you ditched me today."

"I didn't 'ditch you' Annie," he sighed loudly. "I—"

"Karaoked with the Dean," Annie cut him off. "Yeah, I saw the tweet."

"That was awful," he told her. "That was absolutely awful. I suffered today."

"I'm sure you did," Annie said quietly. "I don't know why I came over here; I should just go."

_Yes_, Jeff thought then _No, never_.

"God Dammit," he exhaled under his breath.

"What?" Annie asked, wide-eyed.

"Nothing," Jeff said louder. "You're right I was a prick today."

"Why weren't you there Jeff?" Annie pushed. "If you were just being selfish well, I mean that sucks, but I understand."

He wanted to use the out she spoon fed him. He wanted to tell her that he was selfish, that he was always selfish. He wanted to make her understand that she shouldn't trust him—that she _couldn't_ trust him—because he couldn't trust himself. Especially with her.

"It wasn't just being selfish was it?" she asked him in a whisper. He kept his eyes pinned to the beer bottle, refusing to look at her, the room, anything; he sat perfectly still, some instinct inside him telling him if he just didn't move she wouldn't see the panicked expression that chased across his face, she wouldn't see how close he was to breaking.

Then she leaned over and wrapped her arms around him.

His reaction when she came out of the bathroom was nothing compared to the heat that flooded his body when she touched him. Her smell surrounded him, getting inside him and poisoning his blood. He felt his heartbeat jackhammer in his neck and the arousal was immediate and intense. She was still shivering slightly and she trembled as she held him, the soft flesh of her chest rubbing against him as he wrapped his around her out of easy habit. He might as well have shot himself in the foot; the simple action of accepting her hug, of letting her touch him was kryptonite tonight. They weren't in the study room or the quad; he wasn't protected by an audience of judging eyes or the bright lights of campus. They were alone in his apartment, she was in his clothes, and she was pressed up against him like she was drowning and he was the only thing keeping her afloat.

If only she knew how reversed their situations really were.

Once his arm reached around her she moved the rest of her body next to his, her knees coming over his lap slightly, the pressure making him bite back a hiss as they brushed against his sensitized flesh. His hand rubbed over the smooth material of her back and he realized it wasn't the thin material of his t-shirt that made her reactions to the cold so apparent—she wasn't wearing a bra. She must have taken it off when she changed clothes in the bathroom. His old t-shirt was draped over warm, wet Annie.

He looked down at her, the beer forgotten in his other hand, a sense of awe turning his eyes reverential as he gazed down at the beauty in his arms. She responded to his gaze by hugging him tighter, and he felt her chest shift under the movement, rubbing against his ribs. He didn't have an excuse for anything he did after that.

He knew better. Even if he didn't know better he should have known better; those dreams were prescient and he knew—wholeheartedly and without a doubt—that if he and Annie ended up together he would destroy. Even if he managed not to destroy her physically, he would eviscerate her vulnerability and naiveté with his words. He was a predator through and through; Winger men weren't capable of love, not really. They were, at best, capable of genuine affection from time to time and then only if they worked at it long and hard.

Jeff had never worked at anything. Except maybe trying to protect Annie from the monster he knew he was.

As she stared up at him in the dim light of his apartment, her body exposed underneath his borrowed clothes, he reveled in the awareness that lit her eyes with arousal. He was going to kiss her; he was going to kiss her and do a whole lot more than kiss her and she _loved_ it. She was starving for it. It was her unfettered reaction that finally broke him.

Leaning down he kissed her gently, his lips a lie completely concealing the roiling volcano of emotion inside him. She met his kiss eagerly but tenderly; her mouth opened under his and she accepted his tongue tentatively, her own meeting his kisses softly. Stroking her mouth with his he put the beer down, nearly dropping it on the table, and brought his other hand around to cup her face and angle her for a deeper kiss. When he heard her moan he gently pushed her back on the couch, nipping and licking his way down her neck, stopping every time her fingers convulsed against his shoulders and laving each spot with attention. He was going to take his time with little Annie Edison; now that he had finally committed to this—finally lost the war with himself—he was going to make sure this lasted a good, long time.

Keeping one hand buried in her hair he ran the other down her side, stroking along ribs, the small of her back, her stomach before finally easing his way under the borrowed t-shirt. She arched her back eagerly pushing her breast into his hand as he finally cupped her. She was putty under him, her moans and sighs so much hotter in real life than any fantasy he had entertained over the last three years. When she clawed frantically at his shoulders he gave up pretense and swept the t-shirt over her head replacing his fingers with his mouth. She bucked underneath him, her legs going crazy as she was assaulted with the competing sensation of his tongue and teeth. His fingers kept working stroking, tweaking, and rolling, never straying below her navel teasing and taunting her.

He fought her attempts to take his shirt off, knowing once he felt her warm flesh against him he was lost. He didn't want to be lost yet; he wanted to see her come apart for him.

After an eternity of torture he slipped his fingers into the basketball shorts, reveling in the sensation of her response. He started with simple exploration, letting her mewls and groans guide him, but soon he was working her with his fingers, his mouth still torturing her chest. Striving to touch as many of her erogenous zones at once Jeff took no pity on her and he grinned like a Cheshire cat when she screamed underneath him.

He still didn't let her take his shirt off, but he took her shorts off and settled his shoulders between her knees.

He draped one of her legs over the back of the couch and set the other on the floor, allowing himself a moment to just look his fill. She was beautiful and he took his time tasting the soft skin of her thighs, the back of her knees, and her stomach before finally getting down to work. She was still sensitive from his fingers and he gave her three heartbeats to recover before he set about torturing her again with pleasure. He opened her with his fingers, feeling for that magic smooth spot and crooking up making a "Come here" motion as his tongue vibrated against her. She came apart in his mouth screaming long and hard and he pushed her harder than he should have. He felt a little guilty, but she looked so beautiful coming apart in front of him.

Then and only then did he sit up and pull his shirt over his head. She was so exhausted she couldn't even muster the strength to touch him at first. He grabbed a condom from one of the drawers in the coffee table and slid his own shorts off, rolling it on quickly. She tried to touch him, but he caught her hand in his own and pinned it above her head. Her response had driven him crazy and he knew if she touched him he wasn't going to make it.

Positioning himself he slid into her easily, a growl pushing past his slips as she pulled and tugged at him. His balls were already tight and he fought the urge to release right then and there. He needed to feel her moving around him; he needed to know what it felt like to bury himself to the hilt in Annie Edison.

It only took two easy thrusts before he worked his way inside her and he trembled on top of her for an eternity, unprepared for how good it felt to be wrapped in her arms and legs as she rose to meet him lethargy giving way to that impossible climb once again. She was impossibly hot and tight and he buried his face in her neck all thought, all rational anything lost to the overwhelming drive to move.

"Please Jeff," she begged him and he felt his control give way.

He started moving, slow at first but soon he was pounding her into the cushions and she was clinging to him with fingernails and thighs, her body bouncing beneath his as he hammered her mercilessly. She shifted the angle of her hips and they both groaned at the sensation; he was pulling at her now with every stroke and he heard her panting become more desperate in his ear as he kept up the pace. Dropping her hands to his ass she dug her nails in, meeting him thrust for thrust, shyness replaced with an unfettered need. When she splintered around him he roared as the tingling in his spine exploded. Encased in the heat of her body he shook on top of her, his hips finishing what he was powerless to stop.

Sweat made them both slick and he breathed deep taking her scent inside of him, unable to move for a very long time. He could still taste her on his tongue and he nuzzled her neck, his nose pushed behind her ear, his face draped in her hair.

When he finally realized he was crushing her he pushed himself up wearily, disengaging them reluctantly and flopping back down against the cushions behind him. She lay naked and splayed out in front of him, too exhausted to feel vulnerable or self-conscious. His fingers idly stroked her leg as he let his eyes roam her exposed body. She really was unbearably beautiful.

When she moved, finally, it was to open groggy eyes and meet his gaze with utter contentment—and confusion.

"What—" she paused, swallowing and licking her lips before trying again, "I didn't know it could be like that."

Her words were a bucket of ice water and he realized what he just did and with whom. This wasn't some thirty-something divorcee who was completely at ease with her body and desires. Annie, for all that she knew more of the world than most could contemplate, was still a sexual ingénue. She was buttoned up, prudish, and knocked on her ass by a good kiss. What Jeff had just done to her was hell and gone past "kissing." And he already wanted to do it again.

Fuck.

"What did you say?" she asked, jerking back from him. That was when he realized he said it out loud.

"I was just," he floundered, "at a loss for words." That was the lamest thing he'd ever said. Ever.

She didn't challenge him, but she sat up, closing her legs and drawing her shyness around herself like a cloak; his heart broke as he watched her pick up his t-shirt and pull it over her head before rooting around for the borrowed shorts. He should be holding her and stroking her hair and telling her that it had never been like that for him either. He should be reassuring her that this was the start of something special between them. Instead he sat silently immobile while she dressed herself and awkwardly tried to straighten her hair.

"I—" she stumbled over the words, "I should probably go."

_Don't go_ Jeff wanted to say. _Stay here with me, all night, and let me love you one more time or a five more times_. Somehow he knew a million was never going to be enough. But as he looked up at her eyes and saw the vulnerability there the predator in him sat back on its haunches and howled. Disgusted with himself—angry at her for making him ashamed to be who he was, desperate to touch her and hold her close, he retreated inside his head, all emotion shutting down.

"Yeah," he said woodenly. He didn't say anything else as she left his apartment quietly sobbing.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I own no part of **_**Community**_ **or its awesomeness.**

**Chapter 4**

Annie and he weren't talking again. After the debacle with the Dean they'd gone their separate ways and Jeff retreated to L Street with Britta. He'd been drinking too much lately; he'd been honest with his therapist this week about the therapy not working and she'd fed him some bullshit about these things "taking time." She'd told him alcohol would make things worse. He toasted the memory with another sip of scotch.

"Jeff?" Britta asked. "Heelllooo."

"Sorry," he shrugged. "I was thinking about the red head by the bar."

"You're such a shit," Britta mocked him. 

"You have no idea," he laughed bitterly.

"Oh I think I have some idea," Britta teased him good naturedly. They didn't talk about their relationship—ever—but the few conversations they had always seemed fueled by alcohol. Jeff wasn't in the mood.

"I'm going to go get another drink," Jeff told her rising, "and maybe a phone number."

Britta waved him away, chugging her own drink and heading up to a different part of the bar.

Jeff had already forgotten the redhead's name by the time he finished his next drink. He was good and buzzed now, and whiskey dick was going to do him in before he got started if he wasn't careful, but he discovered that the more he talked to her the more he hated her.

He hated the way she laughed. He hated her teeny-tiny pale blue eyes. He hated that her hair wasn't brown. He hated her voice. She was everything Annie wasn't—rambunctious, gregarious, outgoing—and every time she wasn't Annie, Jeff wanted to walk away. But he didn't. He didn't because he didn't deserve Annie. He didn't deserve anyone, and he and Britta couldn't keep using each other. Their friendship mattered too much, and he needed to fuck something he didn't care about tonight. He wanted to be awful and selfish and sneak out before the sheets had cooled. He wouldn't do that to Britta; he cared about her too much. Tonight Jeff wanted to hate someone else as much as he hated himself.

He got home sometime before sunrise, but the night sky was already lightening with predawn. The sex had been awful. She seemed to enjoy it fine, but Jeff stripped down as soon as he got through the door, stepping immediately into the shower. He didn't even wait for the water to heat up, but reveled in the shock of the icy deluge.

By the time he got out of the shower the water had gone from ice cold to boiling hot to ice cold again. His skin was red and raw from where he'd scrubbed himself clean. He didn't notice the way he was sensitive to the air, or the abrasions peppering his skin from where he'd scrubbed too roughly. By the time he passed out in his bed his brain had finally shut off and he closed his eyes praying the nightmare wouldn't come back.

Annie didn't text him the next day or the day after that. She studiously avoided his gaze in study group, speaking to him only when necessary. She did an admirable job of hiding her emotions from the group, but he noticed the fine tremor that shook her hands when she pulled her notebook out of her backpack, and the way her lower lip trembled when she thought no one was looking. Shirley started pestering her about being out of sorts by the third day, Annie's new reserve finally garnering notice from the rest. Annie begged off concern claiming illness, but Jeff felt the way she looked at him from under her eyelids when she turned back to her biology book.

She was also careful never to touch him. Where before their hands might casually brush each other or their legs might meet under the table, Annie stayed tightly within her own sphere. She never hugged him; the easy conversation they once shared had dried up. He made sure they were never alone together and so did she; it was Abed, of course, that noticed a change in the dynamic and Abed that approached Jeff one night in L Street.

"Hello Jeff," Abed greeted him at the bar.

"What's up Abed?" Jeff answered easily. "Can I get you a drink?"

"No thanks," Abed brushed him off. "I'm here to talk about Annie."

Jeff's heart skipped a beat, but he covered by taking a long sip of scotch. "What about Annie? You know I'm not really the father of the group right? I can't be responsible for all of you all the time."

"What did you do to her Jeff?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"She's been crying herself to sleep every night. She never laughs anymore. Nothing Troy or I do seems to make her happy and while Troy thinks it's her 'womanly ways' I noticed a direct correlation between her sadness and you not talking to her," Abed rattled off.

"I talk to her," Jeff tried to brush him off.

"No you don't," Abed countered. "Neither of you talks to the other except when asked a direct question by someone else in the group and so obligated to answer in keeping with appearances."

"Abed you know Annie and I have no reason to 'keep up appearances' don't you?" Jeff's smirk was fixed firmly in place. He refused to let Abed get to him.

"You would if you slept together."

Jeff choked on his very expensive scotch, hacking and coughing as a painful burn lit up inside his windpipe. Abed pounded him on the back and cocked one eyebrow at him.

"You did sleep together didn't you?" Abed pushed him.

"Abed—" Jeff began with every intention of lying, but Abed wouldn't let him.

"Don't lie to me Jeff," he said seriously. "You know I'm a study of character and I can always tell when you're getting ready to lie or cheat your way out of something. This is about Annie, and I won't let you lie about this. I need to know what you did to her."

"Why do you think I _did_ something to her?" Jeff finally snarled.

"Because you're crossed the Threshold into the Underworld and so reached the darkest part of your journey."

"What the fuck Abed?" Jeff screamed exasperated, garnering several looks from other patrons in the bar.

"You're transforming Jeff," Abed continued unfazed. "You're not the man you once were, but you're not yet the man you will be. It's the most chaotic and dangerous part of anyone's life. You've woken from the Matrix, accepted your identity as Darth Vader's son, faced Grendel and gone on to fight Grendel's Mother. You're buried deep in the metaphoric abyss that is your soul. You're locked in an eternal battle within yourself with yourself over yourself. You're swinging blind and angry and scared and you're dangerous to everyone around you. It doesn't bother me because I am merely the narrator, discomfited but safe outside the parameters of your story. Annie, though, she is a key player in your transformation and as you fight against what you will be, you also fight against her. She's not invincible Jeff; our Annie is strong but breakable. I will give up my metaphysical safety and enter your story to stop you from hurting Annie. I won't let you hurt her."

Jeff just sat, open-mouthed and stared at Abed for a good five minutes. Abed continued to sit next to him on the adjacent barstool, his face ambiguously pleasant.

"I don't understand a single thing you just said," Jeff finally told him.

"I know," Abed said with a hint of sympathy in his tone. "All that matters is that you fix whatever you did to Annie. You'll figure out the rest eventually."

"Why do you think I can fix Annie?" Jeff asked him quietly.

"I don't," Abed told him straight, "but she does."

"Leave me alone Abed," Jeff sighed.

"Okie dokie," Abed told him, hopping off the stool and standing up. "Remember what I said."

"Yeah whatever."

As Abed exited the bar he whispered to himself, "Cool. Cool cool cool."

Walking home he paused for one moment, an uncharacteristic anxiety weaseling its way into his subconscious.

"It might not work," he said to no one in particular, "he might transition from Anakin Skywalker to Darth Vader, a mass murdering genocidal maniac of emotion, but this is their only shot at happiness. If he doesn't try he won't even have the redeeming qualities of Pierce. So we set S-foils in attack position and make our run at the exhaust vent." Satisfied, he nodded once and continued walking.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I own no part of **_**Community**_** or its awesomeness.**

**Chapter 5**

Jeff wished he could get Abed's words out of his mind. He played dumb and mocked Abed often for his comparisons of their lives to TV characters, but the truth was Jeff had been raised on TV. He knew exactly what a hero quest was and he knew exactly what Abed had been trying to tell him. It wasn't like it was anything he didn't already know about himself. He was in therapy for god's sake.

He couldn't finish his scotch after Abed left and he eventually abandoned the bar with a headache and a sour grimace on his face. He was hurting Annie. Every day he didn't explain to her how he felt, why he acted as he had he was hurting Annie. Acceptance of that fact drove him to text her sometime after midnight. He figured she was probably watching some terrible movie with Troy and Abed, but if he didn't talk to her now he'd lose his nerve by morning.

_Can we talk_? He erased it seven times, retyping the same thing before he finally hit "send." He felt adrenaline flood his system like he'd just, well, blurted out "I love you" at the Tranny Dance. He really needed to apologize to Britta about that whole thing one more time. She was a hell of a friend to stick with him after a debacle like that.

_I'm not sure I want to talk to you,_ she responded. He stared at the phone mute and completely at a loss for words.

_I want to talk to you_. Erased.

_I'm so sorry_. Erased.

_Can we meet somewhere?_ Erased.

_I'm sorry_. Erased.

_What can I say?_ Erased.

_Please Annie_. Send.

_Are we going to do this over the phone?_ He could practically feel her sarcasm through the text.

_You tell me where and when_ he sent right back.

_Here. My room. Whenever you get here_, she told him.

Jeff had to swallow around the lump in his throat. He didn't want to walk past Troy and Abed to her room. He didn't want to do this with a blanket fort less than ten feet away.

_You're not coming are you?_ She asked him.

That did it. He was not going to be a chickenshit about this.

_I'll be there in 10_ he shot back. He was there in 8.

Troy answered the door when he knocked and Jeff had never seen the younger man look so serious. Annie rose carefully from the floor of the blanket fort and met his gaze with a tentative smile.

"Come on in Jeff," she invited him when Troy stood there silent. With an awkward nod to Troy he stepped into the apartment and followed Annie into her room. Abed and he exchanged hellos, but Jeff felt like he was some sort of sexual predator being allowed time in Annie's room on probation. He supposed he was. He had spent all this time terrified he was going to be his father; looking at the brittle set of her shoulders he wondered if maybe it was too late.

Annie closed the door behind him and he looked around like a stranger, terrified to sit but feeling like he loomed over her when he stood. He reached in his pocket for his phone, but didn't pull it out. This was not a conversation he could hide behind bejeweled. Annie perched lightly on the end of her bed and patted the spot next to her gently, inviting him to sit.

He'd never felt like a more despicable human being than he did in that moment, and that was saying something.

After everything he did to her. Knowing full well everything he was going to do to her, not because he wanted to but because he was just too fucking broken not to, she was still forgiving him, giving him a chance to bask in her light one more time. Jeff waited for the predator to wake up at her gentle movements, her open face, but his monster was, thankfully, silent tonight. He hoped it stayed that way.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out, dropping next to her. He hadn't meant to lead off with that, but he supposed it worked. A bit obvious, but true nonetheless.

"For sleeping with me or for kicking me out?" she asked quietly. That got his attention.

"I didn't kick you out," he said affronted.

"Jeff," Annie paused, her eyes scanning her walls before settling somewhere he couldn't see, "we had sex and then you, you acted like you couldn't wait for me to leave."

"I didn't—" he started but trailed off at the abject look on her face. "I didn't want you to leave."

"Then why did you let me?"

"I don't know."

"You never do."

"Yeah," he said softly, "it's complicated."

"It always is with you isn't it?" Annie said, ire creeping into her voice. "It's always 'complicated'. You're always too old for me or I'm just too young for you. Or it's not the right timing; there's a new excuse every week."

"I'm no good for you Annie," he said in a quiet voice. "I'll hurt you."

"You already have." She turned her head away from him, but he saw the moisture gathering in her eyes. Shit—he'd made her cry. Again.

"Look," he said exasperated, "you're already crying. That's what I do. I hurt you!" He stood up, unable to sit next to her when everything he did made it worse. He, Jeff Winger who could talk the Pope out of his hat, was constantly saying the wrong thing to this beautiful, sweet woman who just wanted to love him. He wondered sometimes if he wanted to love her—maybe that was the problem.

"I just don't know what you want from me Jeff!" she hissed, real anger making her voice shrill. "I thought maybe after we, you know once we—"

"Fucked?"

She reared back as if slapped and he was suddenly caught in flashbacks of all his nightmares. Annie crying. Annie bleeding. Annie begging him to stop.

His stomach was roiling and he felt the saliva run in his mouth. He was running for the bathroom, gagging before he made it out the door.

He didn't have time to lock the door behind him and she followed him, of course. She always followed him when she shouldn't; found him when he was vulnerable or drunk or tired of fighting. He heard the faucet run as he dry heaved over the toilet and then felt the pressure of a cold washcloth onhis neck. Her kindness made him heave again and his long fingers curved around the bowl, digging into the cold porcelain as he saw Annie crying. She was always crying. He always made her cry.

When his stomach finally settled down he just sat there, head hung over the bowl and tried to get his bearings. He knew she was still in the bathroom with him; he could hear her soft breathing as she stood by the sink. Finally lifting his head, he held the washcloth on his neck with one hand and raised his head to see a glass of water held out in front of him. Without a word he accepted it and swished his mouth out, spit, and swished again.

"I don't suppose you guys have an extra toothbrush?" he said with a weak smile.

"We do, as a matter of fact," Annie told him emotionless. "And you're welcome to it."

"Thanks Annie," he sighed.

"Once you tell me what's going on with you." It was his turn to rear back from her words. She was standing calmly over him, her face an emotionless mask; her eyes were dry, but her mouth was set in a grim line and he knew in this one battle she was going to win.

"I don't want to be my father," Jeff finally told her, giving in after fighting with himself.

"Why not?"

"Because he was an asshole," Jeff laughed without humor.

"Why do you think you're him?" Who was this girl Jeff wondered as he debated how to answer her question. Who was this person that could watch him throw up so calmly, take care of him, and demand straight answers from him?

"He was—" Jeff paused, unsure how to sate her curiosity without revealing too much, "abusive."

"How so?" He looked at her again, unprepared to have her questioning him so casually, so—rationally. When had Annie grown up so fully?

"Being jerked around by you is a crash course in adulthood," she told him still without emotion in her voice. His eyes widened as he realized he'd spoken aloud—again—and he marveled at the lack of judgment in her tone.

"I seem to have a hard time keeping my inside voice inside around you," he tried to joke.

"You seem to have a hard time with a lot of things around me," she told him. In that moment he wanted his Annie back. He wanted his sweet loving girl who had patted the spot next to her on the bed. He wanted the woman with rapture on her face as he made her explode again and again in ecstasy. He wanted the girl whose heart he hadn't broken again and again.

"God I'm sorry," he said, his breath catching. "I ruined you. I was so afraid of destroying you and I did it anyway. I thought if I could just stay away from you, you might have a chance—"

"How as your father abusive Jeff?" she interrupted him.

"Did I do this to you?" he asked instead of answering. "Did I beat the emotion out of you?"

"Jeff," she sighed, taking pity on him and giving him a small smile as she knelt down and rubbed one hand through his hair soothingly. "You're no picnic, but everything's not about you."

"Who else hurt you?" he asked his protective instinct roaring to life at her words.

"Me Jeff," she told him holding his gaze. "I hurt me when I got addicted to pills. I hurt me when I went through withdrawal of those pills. And my parents and my classmates and Spaghetti the amazing peeing homeless man and yes, you too, but it's not your job to protect me all the time. It's definitely not your job to take care of me. You suck at it anyway."

"I'm such an asshole."

"Sometimes," she agreed. "But I want you to tell me what you're so afraid of if we're together." She brought her other hand up and caught his face in her soft grip, holding his gaze with her own.

"I'm worried," he began, mesmerized by her eyes, "no, I know that I'll hurt you."

"Why? How do you know that?" she pushed. "You'll cheat on me? You can't be monogamous?"

"No," Jeff said disgusted. "It's not that. Well, it's mostly not that. I'm not a good person Annie. Deep down where everybody knows who they really are even if they never acknowledge it, I'm bad. Not just a jerk or selfish or an asshole—I'm an awful human being. And if we were together, really together, it would only be a matter of time before I hurt you."

"Tell me how," she kept pushing him. "Why do you think you'll hurt me?"

"Because you're weak," he whispered, his head suddenly too heavy to hold up. He tipped forward and she let him rest against her shoulder; she stroked his hair, never stopping or pausing even as he went on. "I know you're an adult and I know you've seen more than most adults twice your age, but I could—I would eviscerate you. "

"I'm not as fragile as you think I am Jeff" she told him, her voice laced with a dark humor. "That you're worried about hurting me proves you're not as awful as you think you are."

"_Annie_," he growled, pulling his head away from her and catching her hands in his own.

She didn't believe him; she thought he was exaggerating or being melodramatic and that irritated him. He was trying to pour his heart out to her and she was _laughing _at him. Anger came on the heels of the irritation and the monster inside him, the predator he'd been so grateful was gone earlier roared awake. He didn't try to hide it from her this time. She gasped, but she was the one caught in his grip now. He knew his face was twisted in a sneer; his eyes were icy, hateful pits.

"When I say I'm worried that I'll destroy you," he snarled in a low, vicious voice, "I'm not being hyperbolic. I'm not being melodramatic. When I say that deep down I'm an awful person I'm telling the truth Annie. That thing other people have that keeps them from going too far, keeps them from really losing control—I don't have that. It was beat out of me long, long ago. I could destroy you with words, or—if I really am my father—I could end up hitting you like I watched my father do to my mother over and over again. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

"Oh Jeff," Annie cried, her cold control cracking apart and tears streaming down her face. "You're father beat you didn't he?"

Jeff dropped her hands like she burned him. Pushing up from the floor he stood to his full height and tried to step around her, but she was up, blocking his way before he could get out of the bathroom.

"Get out of my way Annie," he said quietly. He was _not_ going to get into this with her.

"No."

"Annie," he growled with a lethal tone.

"Make me."

"FUCK?" he roared at the ceiling, temper snapping and spinning away from her towards the wall behind him. "DID YOU NOT HEAR ANYTHING I JUST FUCKING SAID TO YOU?"

Abed and Troy were beating down the bathroom door before he finished the sentence. The door slammed open into the sink and they tripped over each other in their rush to get inside.

"It's fine guys," Annie told them calmly without taking her eyes off of him. She was still crying, but he could tell his yelling hadn't fazed her. She was crying for him, not because of him. "Jeff's all bluster."

He stopped, dumbfounded, trapped between Annie's small form and the window as Troy and Abed vibrated behind her, both ready to jump in and protect her from the monster that had replaced their friend Jeff Winger.

It was his nightmare come to life. Annie staring him down and he was angry—so very fucking angry.

"I'm done with our heart to heart," he snarled from the windowsill; he was as far away from her as he could get, even leaning back into the window. Troy leapt at him, but Abed held him back. They were still there, in the bathroom, but Abed wasn't letting them interfere. Jeff ignored them, his attention focused entirely on Annie.

"So move me," Annie said quietly, meeting his anger head on.

"Annie—"

"Jeff," she retorted. "You're angry aren't you? Furious at me for trapping you in here? For butting into your life over and over again? So let's do this. Let's have it out once and for all."

"MOVE!" he hollered leaning further back into the windowsill.

"No."

Troy had stopped trying to jump in. He and Abed were both standing back, curiously at ease for all the raised voices, but they hadn't left the bathroom. Jeff ran his hands through his hair over and over, desperate to escape, desperate to get out of this crazy apartment and away from these stupid, suicidal idiots.

He was revealed to them all for what he was now; the therapy hadn't helped at all. He would lose his friends and he would lose Annie. He would grow old and alone, wealthy and a lawyer but unloved. He would schmooze and booze with the rich and famous and go home to an empty apartment and his nightmares and keep getting older and bitterer and angrier. And some day he would wake up and die.

That realization hit him straight in the gut as Annie stared him down. He was pinned against the wall by her gaze and she didn't look scared or nervous. She just looked—sad. She looked unbearably, unbelievably sad.

"Please let me go Annie," he whispered, sliding down the bathroom wall. "Just let me go."

"I got this guys," she told the boys, gently pushing them back out the door and closing she and Jeff in alone again. Troy gave a little resistance but went willingly when Abed gave him a look. After shutting the door and locking it she turned back towards him; his head was hanging as his forearms rested on his knees. That look of pity on her face was seared into his eyelids. She pitied him and he felt like a kid again, helpless, unwanted, and burdensome.

Without saying anything else she walked over and sat next to him, putting her head on his shoulder as if, for all the world, it was just a normal night like any other. Like they hadn't had sex and he hadn't been a monumental ass about it. Like she hadn't just found out he was terrified he would turn into an abusive asshole.

He heard a strange sound echo off the walls of the bathroom and felt a weight settle on his chest. He couldn't quite breathe right; Annie's arms were around him then, pulling him into her embrace and he realized that sound was him. He was sobbing uncontrollably into her arms.

She held him without saying a word.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Jeff had no idea how long he and Annie stayed on the bathroom floor. At some point he remembered thinking surely he'd cried himself out? But once he started there was no stopping; years of anguish were pouring out of him—pain he'd long forgotten he carried—and he couldn't even remember what started it or what he was crying about. Maybe it was about his father. Maybe it was about Annie. Maybe it was about himself. Maybe it was none of that or all of it.

Eventually he and Annie moved to her bed, her arms never leaving him and her comforting embrace and unconditional support a soothing presence that made him cry all that much harder. He felt her bed underneath him and let himself fall into it limply; he was curled around one of her lacy pink pillows like a three year old and his favorite stuffed animal. Annie placed her body behind his, one arm around his torso while the other curled up by his head, her fingers still stroking his hair. Just before he fell asleep the magnitude of their situation hit him with a panic attack; he hadn't just cried in front of her, he had poured his soul out—literally. All the mangled broken pieces of it were left strewn about her bathroom like so much garbage. She felt him tense suddenly and whispered something in his ear, her arms holding him tight. He was embarrassed at how good—how safe—she made him feel; Annie wasn't supposed to carry him like this. His heart racing he decided to get up and go home, to save whatever dignity he had left, but his body wasn't responding to his orders. It seemed only the thought of movement was enough to make each limb weigh a million pounds. He never so much as sat up on the bed.

He passed out too exhausted to feel.

He didn't dream that night and there were no words for how grateful he was when he woke up. He was always grateful when he didn't dream, but they'd been happening so frequently lately he'd begun to think of them as portentous or something—maybe he had just watched too many movies with Abed. Maybe his mind was revolting against therapy. Maybe he was in love with Annie. That thought jolted him awake; the only other time he had dreamed this steadily had been in his twenties and there'd been that brunette. She'd been too easy to run off, even if Jeff had wanted to. He had stopped trying to connect to people after that. But then there was this stupid study group—and Annie.

Annie hadn't run off.

Unwilling to examine his train of thought he crinkled his nose; why did his room smell different? No wonder he woke up with Annie on his mind, her scent was everywhere—it surrounded him. Feminine without being sweet or obnoxious—no overabundance coconut and jasmine for Annie—it was a smell Jeff found he could never get enough of. It was a smell her affinity for bubblegum lip gloss couldn't ruin, musky and spicy.

Cracking one eye open, he couldn't figure out where he was. He was on his back and he had one arm wrapped around a pillow; the other was wrapped around a soft, very warm body that fit perfectly along his side. When was the last time he'd woken up with someone? He didn't even know.

That was the thought that vaulted him fully back into reality, and his head shot up as he remembered. He remembered coming over here on some half-cocked notion of talking to Annie. He remembered the nightmare feeling too close and throwing up. He remembered screaming at her as Troy and Abed busted into the bathroom. They'd been worried he was going to hurt Annie. They'd been justified.

The shame of crying hit him fast and hard. Tears were a weakness he couldn't afford growing up, and he'd learned early how to shut them off, his emotions turning into psychosomatic nausea and purging themselves through drinking, sex, and making other people hurt as much as he did. One of the side effects of therapy was a tendency to _feel_ again, often inappropriately—or what Jeff considered inappropriate. Everything set him off since this summer making him furious or hurt alternately—usually both. It was like once he acknowledged he had a problem his body lost whatever stabilizing mechanisms it had.

Panic smothered him and he fought to keep his breathing even as his pulse kicked up. How the hell was he supposed to talk to Annie today? Or Troy or Abed? They would tell Shirley and Britta and Pierce and Shirley would tell everyone else about Jeff Winger's "breakdown;" it wouldn't be malicious, she just wouldn't be able to help herself. By the end of the semester he'd be ostracized and pitied, his friends would be playing cards—without him. Pierce took the fall after he axed the study table, but there was no one to blame for last night, no one but him.

Easing away from Annie's pliant body, his heart broke when she made a little sound of disappointment. He had his shoes on and he was unlocking his car before he realized he still had the pink pillow with him.

It was well into morning when he got home; he and Annie had slept a long time. He drove around for a while, considering heading up into the mountains to clear his head before settling on a run and a latte. He didn't want to leave Greendale. He didn't want to leave his friends, but there was no way he could face them. He could just pack the Lexus and take off; he could be in Utah before anyone realized he was gone and in Vegas before they thought to come looking for him. He could have a lot of fun in Vegas. It was a move the old Jeff Winger would have made.

That ended up being the only reason he didn't.

As he paced his apartment, exhausted and caged, he jerked the phone out of his pocket when he felt it vibrate. _Are you okay?_ He could practically feel her pity through the text. He was going to be her little project now; a broken pet to be healed and domesticated. That thought made him wing the phone at the couch. After another hour of pacing he finally settled on calling his therapist. She was busy, but she agreed to meet with him once he explained what had happened. They had talked about this in therapy. He wasn't supposed to "dwell." Or drink til he was numb. Staring at the bottle of scotch on the table Jeff struggled with not doing both of those. Maybe just one drink? No—in the mood he was in, once he cracked the bottle open he wouldn't be stopping anytime soon. Running his hands through his hair he decided on a shower; Jeff stripped on his way in, leaving his clothes from the night before strewn about haphazardly as he entered the bathroom.

He just stood there as the hot water beat down on the back of his neck and shoulders. His arms were braced on the wall in front of him, his muscles moving and shifting under his skin as he fought to relax. Two hours until he could talk to someone. He just had to make it two hours and he could figure out how to put his life back together. Two hours until someone could explain to him how to live without Annie in his life.

He wanted her. He had always wanted her, but since sleeping with her the attraction had funneled into something animalistic that rode him hard and never let up. He could never be with her now; maybe she would forgive him for yelling at her and losing his temper—hell, she probably would because she was Annie—but that was just more proof he was bad for her. She had no sense of self-preservation when it came to him. And now that he had balled like a baby in front of her, well, chances were she wouldn't be looking at him like a man anytime soon.

And he wanted her to look at him as a man. Her easy acceptance of his anguish last night did something to him, even as he fought the shame of being so out of control in front of her. She hadn't judged him, hadn't been scared of him. She never doubted her safety with him, and she didn't pull away from him or look lost when he broke down. She just took care of him.

Ironic—the thing that finally forced him to acknowledge how he felt—_really_ felt—for her was the reason he couldn't bear for her to look at him.

His growing arousal didn't really surprise him. He'd known where this was going when he decided to get in the shower. As fucked up and wrong as it was, he wanted Annie Edison more than ever. Her ability to handle him at his worst made him want something familiar and easy with her; if he wasn't who he was he could have rolled over this morning and woken her with a kiss. His hand eased down his chest, his strong fingers wrapping around himself as he daydreamed about how the morning should have gone.

Annie would open her eyes and gaze up at him, her emotions making the dark blue of her eyes lighten and sparkle in the morning light. They would take it slow and easy, a sweet reaffirmation of their feelings and their relationship. She would push him down onto his back, taking control as her deft fingers worked through his hair, down his chest. He would give himself up to her, relinquishing control as she took him in her hand, stroking him slow and easy applying just enough pressure to drive him crazy, stopping at the top to run her fingertips around the tip and make him insane with need. Unafraid of his body she would explore and giggle, and when he retaliated with wandering fingers of his own she would gasp and shake on top of him.

When she finally eased him inside he would capture her mouth in a kiss, their breath mingling with their moans as he held onto her for dear life. She would throw her head back the way she did right before she came, and he would latch onto her neck, nipping and licking as her breasts rubbed against him. She would tremble in his arms as the contractions shook her and he would roar in satisfaction as he followed.

Taking deep breaths Jeff dropped his arm and gave a bark of laughter without humor as he realized he felt worse than before. He wasn't someone else and this wasn't some Lifetime movie. Here he was, fantasizing about how beautiful being like that with Annie would be when he had snuck out of her apartment less than four hours ago. This wasn't just some fight; they weren't a couple and Jeff didn't want them to be. She deserved tender and sweet, someone that could protect and be gentle with her; he'd never been tender in his life. He might love her, but he didn't have it in him to be gentle—never had. Dropping his towel in the hallway he made his way into his bedroom and got dressed mechanically, operating on muscle memory more than any real intention.

When he finally walked into his therapist's office his expensive shades were in place and his hair was carefully mussed to look exactly tousled enough. His Jeff Winger façade was back in place and he even mustered a smile for the secretary who looked up at him with the tender eyes of someone who genuinely enjoyed other people. Most days he found her kindness exasperating but today it offered him an anchor as he waited for his appointment.

When the door finally opened and he was escorted back his mood had shifted again; he was beginning to feel like maybe he could do this, like maybe he wasn't completely lost yet.

"Hello Jeffrey," she greeted him. "Why don't we start by you just telling me what happened?"

"I had sex with Annie," he blurted.

"Did you both enjoy it?"

"Yes."

"But?" 

"But then I sat there while she left in tears."

God it sounded bad when he said it out loud. He related the whole mess to her, careful to include every detail no matter how minute like she'd taught him months ago. He told her how he'd screamed at Annie and how she'd forgiven him. He told her how he wished he wasn't who he was and that sometimes he wished he'd never come to Greendale. He admitted that part of the reason he hated Greendale was because it was the first thing to truly make him unequivocally happy; the study group was more than a family to him—they were safe. He told her how even when he hated Pierce he still loved him and it was that love that made him hate him so much. He told her he was terrified that if he tried this thing with Annie and hurt her he would lose the only real thing in his life.

He admitted out loud, albeit in complete confidence, that he loved Annie Edison. He admitted that if he hurt her if would kill him.

She talked to him longer than she had to, but when he left he wasn't any surer of himself than when he went in. He just wanted her to tell him what to do; how was he supposed to act? What should he say to Annie? The damn woman had somehow managed to wrangle a promise out of him to talk to Annie, but she told him he had to figure out what he wanted to say himself.

Suddenly Jeff found himself wishing his biggest problem was being disbarred.

It was Abed, of course, that came to Jeff's door that night. He still hadn't called Annie—maybe he never would. When he heard a knock on his door he was still torn between Vegas and scotch. Abed called to him through the door before he could look out the peephole and Jeff opened it slowly, unsure of what waited for him on the other side.

"I brought _Manos: Hands of Fate_ and _The Punisher_ starring Dolph Lundgren," the slim man greeted him as he pushed his way through the door.

"I really don't want to watch either of those Abed," Jeff sighed.

"Cool. We can watch TV or something," Abed said easily, dropping down on the couch.

"I was hoping to be alone."

"I think you were hoping to avoid all of us, and while I understand from a thematic standpoint, Annie assured me this evening that was not the best decision for your continued character development," he explained.

"Abed—" Jeff began.

"Easy Jeff," Abed said in a more serious voice. "Troy and I left right after Annie pushed us out of the bathroom. We went to Pavel's so I don't know what happened, but based on your prevalence to reenact Michael Douglas I decided you might need a calming influence tonight."

With a dramatic sigh Jeff gave up the fight and plopped down next to Abed on the couch. "Fine. _Punisher_ then."

"An excellent choice."

Jeff was in the middle of a riveting game of bejeweled when Abed spoke again. Dolph was in the middle of taking off his shirt—again—and Jeff just couldn't take it. This was a _terrible_ movie.

"I'm sorry I pressured you into talking to Annie."

The comment caught Jeff so off-guard he forgot to pause his game, his hands dropping forgotten into his lap as he looked up at his friend.

"You two need to figure things out on your own," Abed explained. "It was wrong of me to intervene, that's not what friends do."

"Who really told you to come talk to me tonight?" Jeff asked, finally seeing the signs.

"Troy," Abed confessed. "I told him about our chat, and he reminded me how poorly it ended when you and Britta tried to matchmake he and Annie."

"I'm not sorry you talked to me," Jeff admitted. And, once he said it out loud, he realized it was true.

"You're not?" Abed asked, tilting his head.

"No," Jeff said slowly, realization dawning, "I'm not. Abed would you excuse me?"

"Cool," Abed said as Jeff got up and ran out of his apartment. "Cool cool cool."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Jeff didn't think about what he was doing. He stood in front of apartment 303 and waited an eternity for the door to open. He didn't think about what he would have done if Troy answered the door. He didn't think about what he was going to say. When Annie pulled the door open, her mouth opened in a surprised "O" and he launched in before he could talk himself out of it.

"Do not pity me," he said first. God dammit, what was it about her that always made him say the wrong thing?

"Jeff I don't pity you," Annie replied softly.

"Good, you know how I feel about pity." He started pacing the hallway. This plan seemed like a better idea in his apartment.

"Do you want to come in?" Annie asked standing back from the door.

"Sure." He followed her in, taking a quick survey and letting out a breath when he saw no sign of Troy.

"Jeff," Annie began.

"I'm sorry for, you know, last night," Jeff finally blurted out around an audible gulp.

"There's nothing to be sorry for Jeff," Annie told him, holding his gaze. "I—I was sorry I missed you this morning."

It was that little stammer, the slightest peek of nervousness as she entered the conversation with him that reminded him this was Annie. This was _Annie_. This was Annie that kissed him to win a debate. This was Annie that chased him into the bathroom. This was Annie that took his breath away when she moaned his name.

"I'm a mess," he blurted suddenly. "Wait—that wasn't what I wanted to say." This was Annie that still made him flounder with words and stumble over what he was trying to say.

"I know," she responded with a small smile.

"You know what? Which part?" he asked nervously.

"Both," she assured him.

"I'm not sure that helps," he mumbled.

"Relax Jeff," she laughed, reaching out and taking his hand in both of hers, stopping his frenetic pacing. "I've known you were a mess since you invited us all to cheat with you the first day I met you."

"The cat's been out of the bag that long?" he mocked aghast.

"And I've been your friend anyway." She gave him her sweet Annie smile at that, her thumb idly stroking across the back of his hand. He was pretty sure he'd never found hand-holding more erotic. What the hell was wrong with him?

"Don't do that," she told him.

"Do what?" he asked confused.

"Get that look on your face that says you're grouchy about something."

"I'm not grouchy about anything," he countered.

"Yeah you are," she argued. "I can tell because your eyes narrow and that tick in your jaw starts up."

"You notice a tick in my jaw?"

"It's a pretty fantastic jaw." That made him stand a little straighter. Annie thought he had a pretty fantastic jaw.

Then he realized what he was doing and deflated again.

"How do you do that?" he asked her.

"Do what?"

"Make me forget whatever it was I was going to say; make me forget everything I've been thinking about."

"For a professional slacker," Annie teased him, "you think way too much."

He met her smile but the moment had passed. Pulling his hands out of hers he started pacing again and mustered the strength to just say what he had to say.

"Jeff?" she asked, concern creeping into her voice. "Why did you come over here?"

"Can't a guy just visit his friend?" he tried, but it sounded forced even to him. "Yeah—"

She sat patiently, her hands folded in front of her and that calm impassive mask in place again on her face. God she was beautiful.

"You know now my father—abused—me." Might as well just cannonball right in. "He beat me. A lot."

She pressed her lips together, but said nothing.

"When I was 5 he and my mom got into it pretty bad," Jeff began, stopping awkwardly not sure where to look. He couldn't look her in the eyes while he told her this. His eyes scanned the blanket fort, the Indiana Jones model, the hallway to the bathroom. Her bedroom door.

"Go on," Annie urged him quietly after several beats.

"When I was 5, I watched him backhand my mom and send her flying into the stove. The stove was on—she was boiling spaghetti." He had to stop for a moment; he'd never shared this story with anyone and he was surprised how difficult it was. "I started crying and screaming and he turned on me, furious at me for being loud. And weak. That was the night I learned how useless crying was."

She stood still, her hands forgotten in front of her. Her eyes were dry and she held his gaze, but he could tell how difficult it was for her to listen to this. He could see her working through it. The refusal—this couldn't be true she was thinking. The horror—how could this have happened to someone she knew? The agony—nothing she did could fix this or make it better. Nothing she said was the right thing to say.

"I'm so, so sorry," she finally whispered.

"I—" he paused, unsure how to continue. "I want you to understand why it's complicated."

Annie could only nod her head.

"But I don't want you to pity me. I'm broken Annie. I'm broken in ways I don't even know yet because there are parts of myself I haven't used in twenty years, but I can take care of myself," he was putting his hands in his pockets, taking them out again. He turned and looked into the kitchen, then turned back. He needed something to do while they talked. "You know I have—_feelings_—for you. You know that I feel really, really strongly for you. I don't want you to keep thinking I'm hurting you on purpose or that, that last night was some sort of regular occurrence for me. That's why I'm telling you all this, not so you'll feel sorry for me or anything."

"Jeff I would never pity you," she said softly. "I'm just—I'm sad for you."

"I'm going to therapy. Did you know that? No, I haven't told anyone," he caught himself. "So yeah, I started going to therapy this summer because I don't want to be me anymore. Or, I want to be a better me. I want to be a me that can stop meddling in your life and messing everything up."

"Jeff I don't want you to stop meddling in my life—" she began but he cut her off again. He had to push through before he lost his nerve.

"I know," he said with a small smile. "And apparently—I'm a jealous person. I never knew that before, but then I've never liked anyone the way I like you so…yeah."

"What are you saying?" she whispered, unsure about where the conversation was headed.

"I'm saying I want to try," he said after a long pause. "I'm saying that staying away from each other obviously isn't working and I think we could be really happy together, you know, if we gave it a shot."

"Is this," Annie paused lost, "do you mean this?"

"Well," Jeff began, "yeah. I mean I didn't exactly know what I was going to say, but I couldn't watch Dolph Lundgren try to act anymore—"

"Dolph Lundgren?" Annie asked.

"Forget that part," Jeff waved it off. "I don't know—I didn't exactly plan that last part, but it's true—the part where I want to try, you know, something."

"Jeff I'm willing to try if you are," she said gently.

"And that's another thing," he kept rambling, uncomfortable with the sincerity of the moment, "I'm sarcastic and I hate touchy-feely stuff and I promise I'll try, but I don't like talking about my feelings. Not on any sort of regular basis. And I hate _Glee_. If you do nothing else for me, please, please don't make me watch _Glee_. I will watch as many BBC costume dramas as you want if you just won't make me watch those people sing."

Annie had started crying somewhere in there, and he felt his heart bottom out. He'd fucked it up. Somehow, despite trying his best to do this right he'd fucked it up.

"Or we can watch _Glee_ if it's that important to you," he backpedaled.

"No," she said with a sniffle, "I mean I do like it, but you don't have to watch it with me." 

"Then what?" he asked flabbergasted. "Why are you crying?"

"Because I thought after we, you know, that you hated me," Annie said softly, trying to surreptitiously wipe the tears away before her makeup ran.

"Oh god Annie, I could never hate you," Jeff told her defensively. "But sometimes I'm a dick and I don't even mean to be. You _can't_ let me get away with it Annie. If we do this, if we try, you can't just let me walk all over you."

"Ha!" Annie gave a bark of laughter. "Did you forget the part where I went to rehab Jeff? Or the part where I ran you off the stage at student elections? I promise I know how to take care of myself. I'll tell you when you cross the line okay?"

"I'm hoping so," he said, serious again. "Annie last night—"

"We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to," she reassured him.

"I'm trying," Jeff told her anyway, "I'm trying really hard to get it all under control, but I'm—you know, I almost just left this morning."

"You did leave this morning," she said confused.

"No, Greendale, Riverside, the state. I almost took off to Vegas."

"I would have tracked you down and dragged you back here," she said without a trace of humor in her eyes.

"I believe you," Jeff said a little surprised. "Why?"

"Because we're your family," she told him, reaching out to him again to take his hands in hers. "The study group and me—we're your friends and you don't just run from friends because they see you at your worst."

"You aren't going to start singing to me are you?" Now that he'd gotten through the confessional part of the conversation Jeff was losing the battle to stay sincere.

"Only if you want me to," Annie teased him. "So what now?"

"I don't really know," he admitted, pulling her into his arms. "I hadn't really thought past the part where I made my big confession."

"Do you want to take it slow?" Annie asked sweetly. "Watch a movie and kiss me goodnight?"

"Mostly just that last part," he whispered, looking down at her.

"I said Yes I will Yes," she whispered into his lips.

"What?" he asked, pulling back confused.

"I've been reading _Ulysses_," she shrugged, pulling his head back down to hers. "Doesn't matter."

He agreed wholeheartedly and met her lips with a tenderness he didn't know he could feel.

Annie met his tenderness with a fierceness of her own, her mouth opening willingly beneath his own and he felt his emotions spiraling out of control; he was doing this. _They_ were doing this. There was no going back after this, no making excuses and blaming it all on Annie for misunderstanding. He pulled back, suddenly feeling the need to apologize for that, for so many things, but then her hands were sneaking under his t-shirt and she was nibbling his lower lip in a way that made it hard to focus.

"Annie—" he tried.

"Let's go to the bedroom," she whispered huskily in return.

Not letting go of him, she pulled and started backing them towards her door. He wanted her to know how sorry he was, for everything, she deserved that. She deserved so much more. Oh god, what if he couldn't do this? What if this was just an impulse and it didn't work out? What if he hurt Annie?

"Jeff," her voice pulled him back to reality. They had stopped kissing, she was caught between his body and the frame of her door and her hands were holding him tightly to her. "Jeff look at me."

He did, knowing his sudden lack of surety was written all over his face.

"Jeff this is _me_," she told him. "This is me. We'll go slow. We'll take it easy. I won't make you watch _Glee_."

It was the joke that brought him back to the moment. So ridiculous but exactly what he needed to hear. His eyes refocused, meeting hers and he let the doubts slip away for another day, letting her kiss him once, twice with a sweet chasteness that broke his heart.

"Make love to me tonight and we'll figure the rest out tomorrow," she whispered against his mouth. Jeff always did hate to disappoint a lady.

Pulling her arms from around him he bent and picked her up easily, kicking the door shut behind them and carrying her to the bed in three long strides. Lowering her onto the fluffy pink bedspread he took the spot next to her, their bodies meeting at mouths as she let him explore her. His left hand roamed her slowly, rediscovering the heat of her skin, the silky weight of her breasts. Slipping under her pajama pants he groaned at her immediate response and begun a lazy circling with his fingertips.

She moaned beneath him, her back arching, and her breathing going ragged under his kiss. He kept at it until she trembled beneath his touch, drinking in every sound she made as his tongue mimicked his fingers. She let him pull her shirt off afterwards and push the easy cotton pants down her legs, but then she was pushing him, rolling him onto his back before he knew what was happening. He rose up obligingly when she stripped him of his shirt, but a hiss escaped his lips when her lips began nibbling their way down his neck, tracing a wet trail down his chest to his belt, a belt she was quickly opening up.

"Annie—" he growled, reaching down to stop her.

"Shh," she whispered with a devilish grin, undoing the belt and popping the button on his jeans. She eased the zipper down and he raised his hips so she could pull pants and boxer-briefs down with one tug. He kicked his shoes off and with one tug she left him naked on her bed, his clothes a forgotten pile on the floor next to hers.

A look he'd never seen on her face had his breath catching in his throat as she crawled back up the bed, stopping to kiss the outside of his hip, to bite the muscle there. His back bowed and his body responded hot and fast. Reaching down he grabbed her shoulders, but then her hand was on him and she was blowing across the tip, offering a tentative lick. His hands convulsed on her shoulders and he tried to urge her up, afraid he would never last this way, but she refused to budge.

She took him in one swallow and he saw stars.

Releasing his shoulders, one hand threaded through her hair of its own volition as the other fisted into the bedspread beneath him. Heaven didn't begin to describe what it felt like; one hand wrapped around the base and her tongue scrapped up and down as the hot heat of her mouth seared him. Her other hand eased between his legs, stroking and rubbing—a growl exploded from his chest that shook the walls.

He lasted another few minutes, the pleasure so intense he never wanted it to stop, but desperate to be inside her, to see her face as he filled her. His voice took on a pleading quality and he pulled her body up roughly, rolling them over so she was trapped beneath him. Her mouth was twisted in a mischievous grin and he bent down, roughly catching her nipple in his mouth pleased when her self-satisfied expression changed to one of longing. Two could play.

Settling between her thighs he reached to the side but remembered they weren't in his apartment. Oh god let her have a condom. Let her have a condom close by.

"Condom?" he asked. His voice sounded all wrong, deep and throaty, but he couldn't worry about talking right now. It was all he could do to hold his desperation or her in check.

"He—here," she said, reaching into her bedside table and pulling a small package out. That caught his attention.

"You keep these next to your bed?" he asked with suspicion.

"Easy cowboy," she laughed at him. "I got them for you."

His desperation shifted again, this time to tenderness, at her words. Ripping it open he rolled it on expertly and was back between her legs, positioned at her entry before she could catch her breath. Easing in slowly they both moaned loudly as she stretched around him. Jeff was sure nothing had ever felt this good.

Capturing her hands in each of his, he pinned them above her head, arching her back and trapping her beneath him. She raised her legs around him, angling her hips, letting him slip deeper and his head fell to her shoulder, too heavy to lift.

"Annie," he moaned into her skin, his hips beginning a languorous pace of their own volition. She was saying something into his ear, or maybe she was just panting—he couldn't tell as his higher functions shut down. His world narrowed to the feeling of sliding in and out of her, to the way her legs clutched him, to the sensation of her breasts rubbing his chest. If he could he would stay in this moment forever, both of them trapped by the needs of their bodies, blissfully intertwined, the outside world forgotten.

But she was biting down on his shoulder and the pain shot straight to his groin. Her hips were bucking beneath him and he was picking up speed, helpless as pleasure coiled in the small of his back, instinct taking over. He could feel the sweat beading on his body; hear the grunts coming out of him as he hammered into her over and over again. Her bed was slamming into the wall, but it wasn't a concern. All he cared about was the way she was going wild beneath him, her body tightening and clenching around his, her hands still trapped above her head.

She came hard, without warning, contractions milking him as her legs turned into a vice around his hips. His speed was frantic now and he tipped over the edge right after, the orgasm seeming to go on and on and on. With his last remaining thought he released one hand and grabbed her, rolling them both over so she was splayed out on top of him, both limp and exhausted.

He dozed in and out for a while, his brain unable to process what had just happened. He felt her stir on top of him and let out a contented sigh. Pulling energy from somewhere deep inside he buried his hand in her hair, his fingers rubbing the silky strands between them.

"Let's do that some more," she said into his chest.

"Yeah," he sighed then cursed at himself. Someday he would learn to be smooth with her god dammit.

"I don't want you to be smooth with me," Annie giggled. "I like it."

"I'm also going to relearn my inside voice," he said with exasperation.

"Nah," she teased, raising her head to look at him. The blue of her eyes had lightened to cobalt. Her lids were heavy, and her lips swollen from his kisses. Looking at her he felt that emotion again, that feeling he only got from her. It was this, the drive to share this with her that drove him to therapy all those months ago, the drive to earn the right to see her like this. Matching her smile with a small one of his own Jeff didn't regret any of it in this moment; the awkwardness of the first appointment, the pain of recognizing who and what he was, it was all worth it. It was worth it for this.

"I love you," he whispered. She gasped in shock and he wasn't sure he blamed her. Where was his inside voice with her?

"Do you—do you mean that?" she asked tentatively. "If not it's okay, I understand cause we just had sex and—"

"I meant it Annie," he cut her off, taking pity on her rambling. He did; he'd meant it for a while. No real reason not to just get it out in the open; he'd already cried in front of her. "You make a mess of me and I love you for it."

"Oh Jeff," she sighed, pulling herself up to kiss him sweetly. "You know I love you too."

"I know," he said with a sneaky smile, "but I said it first."

She wacked him across the shoulder for that, but he didn't care. He was finally where he was supposed to be, and he spent the rest of the night making sure she knew that.


End file.
